


Blush of Youth

by kaitlia777



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor X, Magneto and Mystique get de-aged to before the whole Shaw/Cuba debacle. The modern X-men have to cope. Set between X1 &X2, but assuming Magneto has escaped from prison and Wolverine is back at the Institute. Also, Sean and Emma run the Institute’s sister school, the Massachusetts Academy. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scott POV

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so my knowledge of X-Men canon is…bad at best. I’ve read the paperback novels and the Generation X comics (I was a teen in the 90’s and they had Sean, an Irish superhero, lol! My South Boston (we are a bit…aggressively proud of our Irish heritage) soul couldn’t let me pass that up.), watched the 90’s cartoon and have seen the movie. So, as I said, seriously AU fic. I figure the age thing is just…yeah, one of those things best not to think about. Also, I’m going with the premise that Alex is Scott’s Dad instead of his brother.

“Fuck me sideways.”

For once, Scott Summers couldn’t even muster up the indignation to glare at Logan for swearing in front of the children (not that Scott harbored any illusions that they’d never heard such language before, but it was the principle of the thing), as he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment being expressed.

It was honestly the only way to sum up the current state of affairs.

Since Magneto’s prison break a week earlier, the Mansion hummed with an almost palpable tension. Anti-mutant groups were howling for blood, using his escape as example of mutants flouting the law, trying to force the Mutant Registration Act through Congress.

As noted experts in their field, Jean Grey and Professor Charles Xavier had been inundated with requests to weigh in on the situation. Hank McCoy, one of the few publicly known mutants in a position of authority and respect, was scrambling to present a rational counterpoint to the Magneto issue, but for every appearance he made there were a half dozen shrieking members of the Friends of Humidity, a new hate group targeting mutants.

Even the youngest students on campus were aware of the tension. The older kids were doing their best to keep them calm, taking on more responsibilities as the adults were busy making new contingency plans. Since the Massachusetts Academy, the Xavier Institute’s new sister school, was still in its nascent stage, only two teachers and seven students, Scott recalled him to Westchester. Strength in numbers.

Evacuation and escape plans were made, rendezvous points set and defensive training up to the senior students. As the student teacher ratio was far from even, upperclassman were assigned little ones to look after in the event of an incursion. From their grave young faces, it was clear they all understood the seriousness of the situation.

Then, as if they didn’t have enough going on, Magneto contacted Professor Xavier, asking for a temporary truce and a parlay. He and Mystique arranged to meet the professor, “On the path, overlooking the lake. You know where.”

For some reason he didn’t care to explain (though Scott thought Sean Cassidy looked like he knew more than he was letting on), the Professor agreed to meet with them. Which was how a large percentage of the Mansion’s population found themselves peeking out of windows, watching and ready to act in the Professor’s defense should anything shady happen.

Magneto and Mystique had arrived with typical fanfare, floating in a magnetic bubble. They lit upon the gravel path, barely more than an arms length from Xavier. After greetings were exchanged, Mystique looked up at the windows and gave a smirky wave.

Rogue crossed her arms and huffed unhappily.

Down on the walk, the conversation seemed surprisingly simple and Scott wondered if he’d actually seen the brief smile he thought might have crossed Xavier’s face. Then again, it could’ve just been a trick of the light.

They were all so focused on the enemies within their midst, that a bird landing nearby didn’t even register. Or rather, it didn’t register until it became clear that it was far more than a mere bird, morphing into a swirling vortex-like sphere of light that engulfed the Professor, Magneto and Mystique.

Some of the children cried out in surprise as the teachers led the charge down onto the grounds. Ever fearless, Logan attempted to rush into the light, only to bounce off as though it was solid. With a snarl, he then attempted to slash the surface with his claws, but this made no difference.

Scott did a quick, mental tally of the powers available. Jean and Emma Frost already appeared to be telepathically scanning the sphere and Logan’s powers had already proved fruitless. Scott’s own abilities, Ororo Munroe’s, Sean’s…without knowing what the sphere was, it was too risky to use their gifts. Perhaps Bobby Drake could attempt to freeze a part of it, just on the surface….

“They’re in there,” Jean said, face crumbling in concentration. “The Professor and Mystique, at least. I can’t penetrate Magneto’s helmet…They’re….”

“Them, but different,” Emma agreed. “More…chaotic. Unfocused.”

“Knew we shouldn’t have trusted them,” Logan grumbled, stalking around the disturbance, trailed by Rogue, who told Bobby and St John Allerdyce with her.

Jean squinted. “No, Logan, Mystique seems as confused as…OH!”

The light flared and they automatically fell back, blinking to clear the spots from their eyes.

What they saw was… confusing, to say the least.

Yes, there were three people before them, all badly dazed, but…A young man with tousled brown hair sat in the Professor’s wheelchair, a too large suit hanging off his slim frame. Magneto ‘s clothes and helmet couldn’t fully disguise the youthful features of the man wearing them. Mystique… well you never could know with her, but her blue form looks different, softer, younger.

Which brought them back to….

“Fuck me sideways.”

All in all, a completely appropriate response.

“Jean…” Scott began to ask her if what he suspected had actually occurred, but he was cut off by a shriek from Mystique. The blue woman, shaking off her stupor, seemed horrified to find herself nude and moved her hands to cover her private bits, even as she morphed into a fully clothed, blonde form.

Her shout seemed to galvanize the two men into motion. Looking up from the chair, the brunette said, “Raven, what’s wrong?”

Even as he grasped the girl ( for she looked to be in her late teens to early 20s) by the elbows, the other man planted himself protectively in front of them, hands raised in a defensive posture as his eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings.

“Charles,” he barked, causing the smaller man to spin, hand raised to his temple in an all too familiar gesture.

Most people wouldn’t have even known what to make of the sudden jolt inside their skull, but for those used to the delicate, finely trained telepathic touch of the Professor, Jean or Emma, it was like being hit with a psionic 2 x 4. Rogue winced and held her head as Logan shook his like wet dog. Jean and Emma bull seemed intrigued while Scott tried to erect the walls in his mind as the professor taught him to do long ago.

The brunette eyes widened. “Telepaths,” he breathed, staring searchingly at Jean and then Emma. She seemed to startle him. “You were in CIA custody! How did you escape?”

Emma raised an imperious brow, but her response was, for her, kind and tactful. “That,” she mused, “is a long story.”

“Professor,” Sean said quietly, having gone pale beneath his shock of red hair. “What’s the last thing you can recall?”

Ignoring the question, the taller man pulled the helmet from his head in annoyance and dropped it on the path, tension still clearing stance. “Calm yourself, Erik,” the brunette -- apparently, the Professor said, laying a hand on the larger man’s arm. “I’m not sensing any ill intent from them… well, most of them.”

As he said that, his eyes darted to Logan and ‘Erik’ followed his gaze, eyes widening. “What are you doing here?”

Logan looked slightly put out by that. “We should be asking you that.”

Erik glared. “What does that mean? You’re the one who rebuffed our recruitment attempt. And in a rather coarse way, if I recall. Something about, ‘Go fuck yourselves’.

Now Logan looked puzzled and Mystique gave an amused snort, poking the teenybopper version of the professor in the ribs and muttering something that caused him to gently chide, “Raven, please.”

Because of all the experience he’d had as an X-Man, Scott had a pretty good idea about the sort of craziness that had gone down today. In an attempt to reach a point of stability, where he wasn’t going to have to worry constantly about Magneto getting jumpy and possibly impaling everyone with any metal object on hand, he asked, “What do you three think the date is? Because its June, 2011.”

This seemed to further unsettle Magneto and Professor again squeezed his shoulder, repeating, “Calm.”

It was Mystique, looking like a scared, pretty child, who answered. “September, 1962.”

September of ‘62. That was before the rift between the Professor and Magneto. Before the world at large was aware of the existence of mutants. Before the Professor lost the use of his legs.

The Charles Xavier standing before them was clearly not paralyzed. It was good to see, even if Scott didn’t entirely understand the temporal mechanics that made it possible. Timeline shenanigans always gave him a headache.

More of the students were creeping out the mansion, onto the grounds to see what was unfolding. Thankfully Pioter, Kitty and Sean’s students were corralling them at a distance, trying to keep them out of the line of fire, should a fight break out.

“You’re telling us that this is the future?” magneto questioned, doubt dripping from every word. “Time travel?”

Again, Sean spoke up. “To be honest, we don’t know exactly what happened,” he said, then shrugged. “But past experiences prevent us from a ruling that out.”

X-Men did not lead normal, 9-to-5 lives.

“Good lord,” Xavier suddenly breathed, looking at Sean and askance. “Sean…How….You….”

“Got taller,” Mystique said, looking up at him and narrowing her eyes. “And if it’s 2011, shouldn’t you be older?”

The redheaded mutant shrugged. “Hit my last group spurred at 19... And we’ve actually found that many of us age at a slower rate than non-mutants….Emma’s an example of that. Me, I just got caught in a time dilation field for a few decades.”

Blinking, Xavier tried to refrain from gaping. Scott supposed that, to someone unused to the casual insanity of their lifestyle, Sean’s offhand statement might have been the tiniest bit overwhelming. Hell, most of their long-term residence at the mansion tried not to think too hard about some of the things they did.

“Charles?” Magneto asked in a stressed tone, one that seemed at odds with the composed enemy they’d come to know all too well. Though it was pretty common knowledge that Magneto had once been an ally, it was still strange to see him seeking reassurance from the Professor, to see them standing together.

Exerting more pressure on Magneto’s arm, Xavier finally urged him to lower it. His eyes were filled with the sort of wonder they never got to see their seasoned mentor express. “I believe them, Erik,” he said and Scott was shocked that Magneto seemed to take Xavier at his word, scanning the crowd with less suspicion and more interest. Mystique was gazing at the students in a wistful sort of way.

“Professor,” Scott said, stepping forward and extending his hand ignoring how odd it felt to be introducing himself to the man who was like a father to him, “I’m Scott Summers. I teach here and I’m field Cmdr. Of the X-Men.”

“Alex’s son,” Xavier said with a smile, pumping his hand with enthusiasm. “Incredible. Charles Xavier…but then you know that…”

He then shook hands with Magneto and Mystique, who introduced themselves as Erik and Raven. Clearly Xavier sent some of his hesitation regarding them, but chose not to mention anything quite yet.

Highly doubting that they were actual time travelers, Scott figured it wouldn’t hurt for them to hear some of what he knew Xavier and Magneto to have done since 1962. They were here and Charles was a telepath, so it wasn’t like they were going to be able to keep a lot of secrets.

“Why don’t we go inside?” he asked, motioning to the mansion. “That way the children can get back to their coursework and we can call Hank. He might be able to figure out what happened.”

There were nods of agreement and sounds of disgruntlement from several of the children, but they were easily quelled. Right now, Scott just wanted to get everyone inside, get to a phone and call Hank.

If anyone would be able to explain how and why this happened and find a way to reverse it, it would be Hank McCoy.

 

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


	2. Erik POV

As if it wasn’t strange enough to find themselves suddenly displaced to the year 2011, to discover that, in this era, he and Charles were enemies…that made things almost untenable. It was only the fact that Charles echoed his horror that kept Erik from having a little power/metal fixtures accident. Raven had been aghast and simply declared it an impossibility, but Charles had read the truth in many minds.

Erik would kill Shaw and defect from Charles’s team due to a conflict in ideologies. He’d take Raven with him and form his own team of mutants, a team dedicated to helping homo superior rise as the dominant power on Earth, through any means necessary.

While Erik despised the thought of betraying Charles, the first true friend he’d had in far, far too long, he couldn’t help but understand why he had done it. Once the world at large knew of their existence, they’d react, try to stamp out the threat they’d perceive to their way of life. En mass, humanity (and mutants themselves) could devolve to their baser, animal instincts and would fight to survive, willingly compromise their morals in the face of extinction.

As a child, he’d seen good men and women swept up in the tides of hate and the hive mind appeal of ‘party loyalty’. Millions of Jews died because people allowed themselves to accept or turn a blind eye to the atrocities being perpetrated, thinking their own lives would be better.

If that was their reaction to people whose only difference was their religion, how could anyone think they would simply accept mutants? Telepaths, a man who could manipulate metal, a girl who could become anyone, surely they would be seen as a threat.

Charles was an idealist, an optimist. He believed in the good in people. Yes, a man or woman could be good, Erik did not trust humanity as a whole.

Still, here it was, nearly 50 years into the future and neither his, nor Charles’s way had achieved any sort of noticeable result. Sure, there were some who accepted mutants, but many who did not. It seemed that the future version of him had done nothing but cause more anti-mutant resentment.

It was a lot to take in.

After a few hours of chatting with this era’s mutants, most notably Sean, Scott (Alex’s son, wasn’t that a shock) and Jean, a telepath, Charles, Raven and himself had been left in a familiar sitting room to collect themselves. It was something of a relief to find the book lined room mostly unchanged. The only striking difference was the lack of boxy television and the small table on which it sat upon. A painting had been removed from one wall and in its place hung a flat, blank screen that, after a moment of contemplation, Erik thought could be a television.

“This is extraordinary,” Charles said from where he stood by the window, gazing out onto the grounds. A small cluster of students were playing Frisbee on the lawn and, upon closer examination, one realized it was one student…multiple copies of one student. Either that or there was a group of quintuplets enrolled at the school. “I never dreamed to expand our team to this extent. I know many of our recruits are young, but to establish an actual school…two even….”

There was a glow of enthusiasm about Charles and Erik exchanged a fond glance with Raven. After discovering the contentious nature of the relationship between the three of them in this era, they’d come to a decision not to allow that to color their experiences here. After all, they’d not quarreled and gone separate ways, some future versions of themselves had.

They were in the future! How many people got a chance to view the world as though 50 years passed in the blink of an eye? None that Erik knew of. It was an opportunity like unlike any other, to see what their lives had wrought without having that lifetime of experience themselves. While it made no sense to spend too much time brooding over actions they hadn’t actually taken, it wouldn’t be amiss to learn from the mistakes and successes.

“Can you believe Sean is the headmaster at a school?” Raven asked, voicing a thought they’d all had. “I mean, no offense to him, but….”

“Puff the Magic Dragon tasked with shaping impressionable young minds?” Erik finished her thought with a smirk.

Pushing away from the window, Charles clucked his tongue. “Clearly he’s matured since those days,” he said, serious tone undermined by his smile. Under the weight of their gazes he relented. “All right, I was surprised as well.”

Beyond the closed door, they heard the thundering of many feet, a group of students passing by. Their voices were mostly hushed, but occasionally a word or phrase filtered through.

“…time travel. It always ends in tears or someone ceasing to exist….”

“…hubba-hubba….”

“…All that hair!! And cherry lollipop lips!!”

“Oh mah Gawd, Ah do not need t’ hear that, Paige!”

“Who knew Magneto was sex on legs….you know, before he got all evil and old….”

“…ditch the girls and play Call of Duty. They’re being weird….”

The voices faded as the children disappeared down the halls. Erik stared at the door in a mixture of horror and amusement, while Raven stifled snorts of laughter. Charles looked at Erik with raised eyebrows and commented, “Looks like you’re a hit with the young ladies, my friend.”

Heaving a put upon sigh, Erik narrowed his eyes at his friend and thought, I’m not the only one.

Tossing Erik a troubled look, Charles asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Raven rolled her eyes, picking up on the non-verbal part of the conversation with the ease of long practice. “I’m pretty sure the ‘cherry lollipop lips’ comment wasn’t directed at Erik,” she said dryly, causing her quasi-brother to gape in flustered embarrassment.

“I think I’m going to find a snack,” Charles commented, deciding to completely ignore their teasing as he turned to the door to hide his pink cheeks.

They’d been awkwardly told they were, of course, free to explore the Mansion and to ask anyone if they needed assistance with things they didn’t recognize. Since the kitchens had probably not been relocated, they felt confidant in their ability to locate something to eat.

The hallways looked fairly similar to the ones they knew and they could hear the student’s voices again, echoing from the billiard room. Though it was not in the direction of the kitchen, Erik was unsurprised to see Charles turn toward the voices.

While the office and halls had survived 50 years without noticeable change (ah, the timlessness of classic style), the billiard room…was no longer the billiard room. One of the walls was completely overtaken by an enormous screen, on which odd looking soldiers were engaged in a bloody battle. On the couches and chairs, 4 boys and 3 girls sat with small devices in their hands, eyes riveted on the screen.

They didn’t really seem to be talking, just making loud, vague exclamations in response to the action on the screen. Then one of the girls, a brunette with a bouncy ponytail, shouted, “Bobby, on your six!”

A boy with curly, dark blond hair responded to her warning, vigorously moving his little device around, then, as one of the men on the screen whirled and took out an assailant, he said, “Thanks Kitty.”

The little devices controlled the action on the screen, Erik realized. Some sort of training exercise?

“What are you doing?” Raven asked, stepping forward to peer down at the device in the hands of the girl closest to her, a petite Asian wearing and incongruous yellow slicker.

Without turning to acknowledge them, a slim boy with light brown hair grunted, “Killing Nazis.”

The offhand comment shocked Erik and he took an involuntary step back. He felt Charles move closer, fingers brushing his elbow as he asked, “Pardon me?”

Though the words were ones of polite inquiry, Charles’s tone had been sharp and it was enough to draw an immediate reaction from the children. The boy called Bobby jabbed at his device and the action on the screen froze as the 7 young people turned in their seats. Some looked curious, others contrite, though one girl, with a streak of white in her otherwise brown hair, was casting a dubious glare at Erik and Raven.

“It’s a video game,” rumbled the dark haired boy, a rather massively built fellow who seemed to dwarf the chair he was perched on.

“A game,” Erik echoed in disbelief, feeling the bile rise in his throat. These children were playing at things he had lived through. It was unsettling. “Hunting Nazis is not a game.”

The brass lamps clattered several inches on the tables and two of the boys, the big kid and a golden blond, reached out and grabbed them before they fell to the floor. A flash of static filled the screen for a moment before the machine made a static noise and blinked off.

The children shifted uncomfortably and ponytail said, “Well no, of course not. But this isn’t real…and most Nazis are dead now…though sometimes the neo-Nazis or KKK cause some trouble….But frankly, we worry more about the Friends of Humanity. Bigots of all races, religions and cultures have found a common boogey man in mutants and…..”

“You’re babbling, Kitty,” the boy who’d first made the comment about killing Nazis said, then raised an eyebrow at Erik shrewdly. “Did you mean to fry the game console or was it an accident?”

“Ain’t like accidents are unheard of ’round here,” the golden blond boy drawled, nodding towards the window. “Don’t think the tower’s been the same since the last time you lit it on fire.”

That earned him a nasty look. “Please, like a little fire is anything compare to when you blew out the side of the barn.”

“It’s a stable, not a barn.”

In these few moments, Erik took the measure of the children before them. Charles was doing the same, in his own way, and sidled over to stand between Erik and the girl with the white streak, who was still silent and glaring daggers. She was full of anger, something Erik could relate to, and seemed to focus that anger on him. Clearly, his future self had done something to offend her.

Kitty -- she of the ponytail -- was eager and slightly nervous and Erik noted the small, gold Star of David pendant she wore. The girl in the slicker was trying very hard to seem unimpressed by everything, but she couldn’t help sneaking curious gazes at the three newcomers. Bobby had a hand on the shoulder of the girl with the white streak, supportive but also restraining. He wasn’t thrilled with them, but seemed to find them less personally offensive. The young man who lit things on fire, he had a chip on his shoulder and liked pushing the limits, seeing what he could get away with. The other two boys, the blond and the large kid, they were calmer, steadier presences. Probably had younger siblings and were used to putting on a show to make them think everything was okay.

Interesting.

“Accident,” Erik admitted, then nodded to the screen. “Why did that happen?”

“Microchips react badly to magnetic fields,” Kitty said quickly, then her eyes widened. “Oh, gosh, everything has microchips! Cell phones, computers, the Danger Room….You’re gonna have to be careful or you’ll de-magnetize everything…Do you disrupt pacemakers?”

He had only the vaguest idea of what the girl was saying and said, “I have no idea.”

“Right,” Charles said suddenly, clasping his hands in front of himself and offering the children a tight smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re off to the kitchens to find something to eat. Good day.”

Erik wondered at Charles’s abruptness, but allowed the smaller man to tow him out of the room, exchanging a look with Raven, who shrugged, equally confused. He’d have to ask Charles about it later.

He’d also have to ask someone about those things Kitty had mentioned. Microchips. It wouldn’t do to have household items randomly breaking every time he used his abilities.

Sean would probably be the best choice to speak with. He seemed the least wrong footed by their current state. Possibly because he was the only one who had known them as they were and not the people they would grow into.

As they rounded the corner to head to the kitchen, they encountered a young man coming from that direction. He was sipping from a can and gave them a cool nod. “’Sup,” he greeted and gave Raven a smirking once over.

Well, this was someone who didn’t seem too startled and Erik tried not to smile when Charles said as much.

The boy snorted. “Pfft!  Weird ass time travel‘s nothing.  Sean made us take temporal physics and logistics with Dr. McCoy. Some of that shit’s heavy.”

With that he wandered off, leaving the three of them in his wake.

Clearly, the teachers and students here had been party to some interesting things.

* * *

To Charles, the mansion had always been a place of peace, a refuge from the constant barrage of minds he was faced with when surrounded by other people. Certainly, there were always a few others around, Raven, staff and later Erik and the boys, but a few minds were no trouble.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel the pulse of the dozens of young people, occasionally catching free floating thoughts. The most of the adults were more contained, trained, he realized. Even the non-telepaths had lived around those who could read their minds and had learned to erect mental barriers, both for their privacy and to give the telepaths a break from the barrage of their thoughts.

There were at least two other telepaths in residence and neither of them seemed perturbed by the swirl of adolescent minds. His older self must have learned a more effective means of closing himself off to all the turbulence. Or at least he hoped he had. Some of the thoughts running through these kid’s heads were more than a little unnerving.

Especially the girls. Really, there were some things he had no need to know. Ever.

They left the kitchen sated, but not full as dinner was only a few hours off, courtesy of Mrs. Benton, the woman who ran the mansion’s kitchens like a marine drill sergeant. Oddly enough, her son, whom she was grooming to take her place, was a former marine. She herself was the daughter of Mrs. Thayer, the cook Charles knew. In ‘62, Mrs. Benton had just been Lizzie, Mrs. Thayer’s 7 year old daughter. Seeing her now, so many years older was quite a shock.

As they reached the main hall, Charles noticed that Erik was picking at the…unusual outfit he was wearing. Raven, of course, could change her garments on a whim, but he and Erik were still in the clothes their elder selves had been wearing. While the suit he wore was nice, the cut of the waistcoat was oddly high in the back and the shoes pinched.

Coming to a decision, Charles reached out with his mind. Excuse me, Ms. Grey?

He felt a hint of surprise from her, but she answered quickly. What can I do for you, Professor?

I hate to be a bother, but I was wondering about obtaining a change of clothes for Erik and myself.

Of course. We keep spare things in storage. You can probably find…Sean will meet you in the entry hall and show you the way.

Thank you. “Sean’s going to show us where they keep the spare clothing,” Charles said and Erik nodded in understandable relief.

Fiddling with an odd figurine, Raven asked, “Is it odd having other telepaths around?”

“A bit,” Charles admitted, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Ms. Grey and Ms. Frost both have impressive control and I think there may be other students with telepathic abilities. They…resonate differently.”

Before he could say anything more, Sean came down the grand staircase, something that looked like a watering can attached to a cord in hand. He offered them a far more genuine smile than most could seem to manage and nodded toward a stretch of wall. “Stairs to the lower levels are behind that panel. Most folks just take the elevator, but Jubilee’s already regaling anyone who will listen with the story of the game room TV’s demise…so, stairs.”

Sean touched the wall and the panel slid smoothly to one side, revealing a staircase. Without doing more than skimming the surface of Sean’s mind, Charles learned that destroyed electronics often went to early graves around here.

Following him down the stairs, Charles reflected on the changes time had wrought in the redhead. Gone was the lanky, sometimes awkward and goofy boy who often smelled of funny cigarettes. Fully grown and filled out, Sean moved with the confidence of an athlete and his psyche hummed with self assurance. Still, he was far more familiar than anyone else around here.

The basement level Sean led them onto was vastly different than the ground floor, which seemed more or less unchanged since 1962. This though, streamlined walls in shades of gray, odd doors with high tech looking key pads…it was something out of a science fiction movie.

After making their way through the labyrinthine halls (Charles wondered when the basement had been remodeled), Sean opened a door, revealing a rather cavernous room filled with stacks, upon stacks of boxes. To Charles’s great surprise, misguided, perhaps, given their current situation, he saw that many of the boxes were labeled in his own handwriting, labels with short descriptions and dates.

Erik raised a bemused brow. “I didn’t know you were such a pack rat, Charles,” he mused, stepping over to a shelf and peering into a half opened box. “What is this?”

Dangling from between two of Erik’s fingers by it’s lank blond hair was what appeared to be a half melted doll.

From where he was shifting a pile of boxes, Sean looked up and grimaced. “Someone melted Barbie accidentally, I suppose,” he replied with a shrug, then brightened. “Ah, here we go.”

Stepping forward, Charles saw that Sean had unearthed a small pile of boxes labeled Erik, 1962. There was a pulse of melancholy from Sean and an image floated through Charles’s mind…a memory.

“Why aren’t we just tossing this stuff?” Alex demanded, dropping a box unceremoniously into a corner. He was flushed with anger that seemed to pour off of him in waves.

“Charles wants to keep it,” Sean replied, voice sounding strange, like a double echo in his own mind.

“He’s not thinking straight,” Alex persisted. “He’s never gonna walk again ‘cause Erik put a bullet in his back and then up and left us…I’m going on a run. You coming?”

Sean pushed the boxes back against a wall. “In a minute….”

The flash of memory hadn’t taken place in this room, instead in the old basement that Charles remembered. Clearly, things had been moved during the intervening decades, but Sean still knew where to find these particular boxes. Interesting.

“Charles?”

Apparently, he’d briefly been lost in his head and the others had noticed. Raven had stepped closer to him, puzzled, while Erik had paused pawing through the box and Sean peered from his continued search. Each face showed a varying degree of concern and Charles took a bracing breath. “Sean,” he began and felt the other man’s hackles rise at his tone, “May I ask you something and request a straight answer.”

Oh, hell, ran through Sean‘s mind, but aloud he said, “Of Course.”

“What happened?” Charles asked, stepping forward to take the box that Sean was holding in front of himself like a shield. “The others mentioned that, in this time,” he waved a hand indicating himself, Raven and Erik, “We are enemies, but didn’t explain how that came about.”

Sean wet his lips. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think you, or Henry and I ever truly regarded Erik and Raven as our enemies. We didn’t see eye to eye on many things, but not enemies…though in recent days things have been getting worse.”

“Start at the beginning,” Erik said, settling down on a large plastic crate and fixing Sean with a penetrating gaze.

The red head sighed. “When President Kennedy - God rest his soul - announced that we would not stand for Russia placing missiles in Cuba, you two knew that Shaw would be there to instigate WWIII. By the time we got down to Cuban airspace, the Russian and US fleets were in a standoff, watching to see if the ship carrying the missiles would cross the blockade line. The Russians ordered them to turn, but Shaw’s teleported had already killed the crew and set the course to Cuba…so the Professor had one of the Russian ships fire on the cargo ship and destroy it, stopping an international incident.”

“Since we knew Shaw was around somewhere, I jumped into the water and located the submarine. Then Erik lifted the sub onto land…but there were issues and the Blackbird went down too. Alex and Hank took on Shaw’s minions while Charles guided Erik onto the sub…where eventually Erik got the helmet off of Shaw and Charles froze him…and you killed him Erik.”

“Everyone was pretty battered when you dropped Shaw onto the beach, Erik. You were wearing the helmet, so Charles couldn’t get into your head and you made your new stand known. I remember you telling us to stop fighting amongst ourselves. That the enemy was the humans out on the ships and they were about to attack us. Charles confirmed that and Moira tried to radio them to stop the attack…it did no good.”

“Dozens and dozens of missiles were launched at us and Erik stopped them…and they spun in mid-air to aim back at the ships. Charles tried to talk you out of attacking, saying there were lots of innocents on the ships, just men following orders….”

Charles felt Erik tense at that, felt the pulse of anger, but he refrained from commenting to allow Sean to continue.

“You replied that you’d been at the mercy of men just following orders and never again. Then tossed the missiles at the ships. Then Charles tackled you, there was a fight, trying to get the helmet off of Erik and, let’s just say you didn’t do too well Charles. We tried to move forward to help but were tossed back.”

“Then Moira tried to stop Erik by shooting him…but that didn’t have much effect as he deflected the bullets…unfortunately one hit Charles in the spine.”

Charles felt shock and denial from both Erik and Raven as Sean continued, not looking at them. “We felt you scream more than heard it, Charles. We saw you fall. Raven was the one screaming and Erik scrambled to you, falling to his knees, removing the bullet, holding you…Erik was upset enough to lose control of the missiles and they detonated above the ship. There was a scary moment when Erik choked Moira with her dog tags, blaming her for shooting Charles, but he convinced you that it wasn’t her fault.”

“Us turning on each other. It’s what they want. I tried to warn you Charles. I want you by my side We’re brothers, You and I. All of us together, protecting each other we want the same thing…That’s what you said, Erik. So much of that day is burned into my brain. Charles, your reply was that you didn’t want the same thing. So Erik rose, letting Moira take his place and asked who was with him.”

“Shaw’s people and Raven left with him. Then me, Alex and Hank ran to Moira and Charles and Hank said not to move…and Charles told us he couldn’t feel his legs. I still don’t know how he convinced the Navy to pick us up and transport us back to Florida….but needless to say, that’s how the whole conflict began….”

Dear lord, and that was only the beginning. How traumatic must the rest of the fifty years be? “I think that’s enough to digest for the moment,” Charles said quietly, noting how Erik was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles had gone white and Raven had her hands pressed over her mouth. Even Sean, who knew all the details, was looking a little wrung out.

They spent a few more minutes sorting through the boxes and selecting some garments to bring upstairs. Everything had been packed away for so long that the creases seemed permanently embossed into the fabric, but that turned out to be the reason Sean was toting around the strange watering can. It was a steamer that pressed the wrinkles out of fabric, like at the dry cleaners. That had to come in handy.

After Sean’s little history lesson, it was even odder to discover no one had been assigned either Erik or Raven’s suites. Both rooms were kept in order by the staff and their things had long since been moved to storage, but the rooms themselves, closest to Charles’s suite, stood empty.

Clustered in Charles’s suite, they managed (or, to be fair, Raven managed) to work the steamer as Sean had shown them and were dressed in familiar clothing by the time Ms. Grey’s voice echoed in their heads.

Dinner is being served in the dining hall.

Charles looked to Erik, who straightened the collar of his turtleneck and nodded. Raven looped her arms through each of their elbows as they set off to the dining hall.

Once more into the breach.


	3. Charles POV

To Charles, the mansion had always been a place of peace, a refuge from the constant barrage of minds he was faced with when surrounded by other people. Certainly, there were always a few others around, Raven, staff and later Erik and the boys, but a few minds were no trouble.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel the pulse of the dozens of young people, occasionally catching free floating thoughts. The most of the adults were more contained, trained, he realized. Even the non-telepaths had lived around those who could read their minds and had learned to erect mental barriers, both for their privacy and to give the telepaths a break from the barrage of their thoughts.

There were at least two other telepaths in residence and neither of them seemed perturbed by the swirl of adolescent minds. His older self must have learned a more effective means of closing himself off to all the turbulence. Or at least he hoped he had. Some of the thoughts running through these kid’s heads were more than a little unnerving.

Especially the girls. Really, there were some things he had no need to know. Ever.

They left the kitchen sated, but not full as dinner was only a few hours off, courtesy of Mrs. Benton, the woman who ran the mansion’s kitchens like a marine drill sergeant. Oddly enough, her son, whom she was grooming to take her place, was a former marine. She herself was the daughter of Mrs. Thayer, the cook Charles knew. In ‘62, Mrs. Benton had just been Lizzie, Mrs. Thayer’s 7 year old daughter. Seeing her now, so many years older was quite a shock.

As they reached the main hall, Charles noticed that Erik was picking at the…unusual outfit he was wearing. Raven, of course, could change her garments on a whim, but he and Erik were still in the clothes their elder selves had been wearing. While the suit he wore was nice, the cut of the waistcoat was oddly high in the back and the shoes pinched.

Coming to a decision, Charles reached out with his mind. Excuse me, Ms. Grey?

He felt a hint of surprise from her, but she answered quickly. What can I do for you, Professor?

I hate to be a bother, but I was wondering about obtaining a change of clothes for Erik and myself.

Of course. We keep spare things in storage. You can probably find…Sean will meet you in the entry hall and show you the way.

Thank you. “Sean’s going to show us where they keep the spare clothing,” Charles said and Erik nodded in understandable relief.

Fiddling with an odd figurine, Raven asked, “Is it odd having other telepaths around?”

“A bit,” Charles admitted, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Ms. Grey and Ms. Frost both have impressive control and I think there may be other students with telepathic abilities. They…resonate differently.”

Before he could say anything more, Sean came down the grand staircase, something that looked like a watering can attached to a cord in hand. He offered them a far more genuine smile than most could seem to manage and nodded toward a stretch of wall. “Stairs to the lower levels are behind that panel. Most folks just take the elevator, but Jubilee’s already regaling anyone who will listen with the story of the game room TV’s demise…so, stairs.”

Sean touched the wall and the panel slid smoothly to one side, revealing a staircase. Without doing more than skimming the surface of Sean’s mind, Charles learned that destroyed electronics often went to early graves around here.

Following him down the stairs, Charles reflected on the changes time had wrought in the redhead. Gone was the lanky, sometimes awkward and goofy boy who often smelled of funny cigarettes. Fully grown and filled out, Sean moved with the confidence of an athlete and his psyche hummed with self assurance. Still, he was far more familiar than anyone else around here.

The basement level Sean led them onto was vastly different than the ground floor, which seemed more or less unchanged since 1962. This though, streamlined walls in shades of gray, odd doors with high tech looking key pads…it was something out of a science fiction movie.

After making their way through the labyrinthine halls (Charles wondered when the basement had been remodeled), Sean opened a door, revealing a rather cavernous room filled with stacks, upon stacks of boxes. To Charles’s great surprise, misguided, perhaps, given their current situation, he saw that many of the boxes were labeled in his own handwriting, labels with short descriptions and dates.

Erik raised a bemused brow. “I didn’t know you were such a pack rat, Charles,” he mused, stepping over to a shelf and peering into a half opened box. “What is this?”

Dangling from between two of Erik’s fingers by it’s lank blond hair was what appeared to be a half melted doll.

From where he was shifting a pile of boxes, Sean looked up and grimaced. “Someone melted Barbie accidentally, I suppose,” he replied with a shrug, then brightened. “Ah, here we go.”

Stepping forward, Charles saw that Sean had unearthed a small pile of boxes labeled Erik, 1962. There was a pulse of melancholy from Sean and an image floated through Charles’s mind…a memory.

“Why aren’t we just tossing this stuff?” Alex demanded, dropping a box unceremoniously into a corner. He was flushed with anger that seemed to pour off of him in waves.

“Charles wants to keep it,” Sean replied, voice sounding strange, like a double echo in his own mind.

“He’s not thinking straight,” Alex persisted. “He’s never gonna walk again ‘cause Erik put a bullet in his back and then up and left us…I’m going on a run. You coming?”

Sean pushed the boxes back against a wall. “In a minute….”

The flash of memory hadn’t taken place in this room, instead in the old basement that Charles remembered. Clearly, things had been moved during the intervening decades, but Sean still knew where to find these particular boxes. Interesting.

“Charles?”

Apparently, he’d briefly been lost in his head and the others had noticed. Raven had stepped closer to him, puzzled, while Erik had paused pawing through the box and Sean peered from his continued search. Each face showed a varying degree of concern and Charles took a bracing breath. “Sean,” he began and felt the other man’s hackles rise at his tone, “May I ask you something and request a straight answer.”

Oh, hell, ran through Sean‘s mind, but aloud he said, “Of Course.”

“What happened?” Charles asked, stepping forward to take the box that Sean was holding in front of himself like a shield. “The others mentioned that, in this time,” he waved a hand indicating himself, Raven and Erik, “We are enemies, but didn’t explain how that came about.”

Sean wet his lips. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think you, or Henry and I ever truly regarded Erik and Raven as our enemies. We didn’t see eye to eye on many things, but not enemies…though in recent days things have been getting worse.”

“Start at the beginning,” Erik said, settling down on a large plastic crate and fixing Sean with a penetrating gaze.

The red head sighed. “When President Kennedy - God rest his soul - announced that we would not stand for Russia placing missiles in Cuba, you two knew that Shaw would be there to instigate WWIII. By the time we got down to Cuban airspace, the Russian and US fleets were in a standoff, watching to see if the ship carrying the missiles would cross the blockade line. The Russians ordered them to turn, but Shaw’s teleported had already killed the crew and set the course to Cuba…so the Professor had one of the Russian ships fire on the cargo ship and destroy it, stopping an international incident.”

“Since we knew Shaw was around somewhere, I jumped into the water and located the submarine. Then Erik lifted the sub onto land…but there were issues and the Blackbird went down too. Alex and Hank took on Shaw’s minions while Charles guided Erik onto the sub…where eventually Erik got the helmet off of Shaw and Charles froze him…and you killed him Erik.”

“Everyone was pretty battered when you dropped Shaw onto the beach, Erik. You were wearing the helmet, so Charles couldn’t get into your head and you made your new stand known. I remember you telling us to stop fighting amongst ourselves. That the enemy was the humans out on the ships and they were about to attack us. Charles confirmed that and Moira tried to radio them to stop the attack…it did no good.”

“Dozens and dozens of missiles were launched at us and Erik stopped them…and they spun in mid-air to aim back at the ships. Charles tried to talk you out of attacking, saying there were lots of innocents on the ships, just men following orders….”

Charles felt Erik tense at that, felt the pulse of anger, but he refrained from commenting to allow Sean to continue.

“You replied that you’d been at the mercy of men just following orders and never again. Then tossed the missiles at the ships. Then Charles tackled you, there was a fight, trying to get the helmet off of Erik and, let’s just say you didn’t do too well Charles. We tried to move forward to help but were tossed back.”

“Then Moira tried to stop Erik by shooting him…but that didn’t have much effect as he deflected the bullets…unfortunately one hit Charles in the spine.”

Charles felt shock and denial from both Erik and Raven as Sean continued, not looking at them. “We felt you scream more than heard it, Charles. We saw you fall. Raven was the one screaming and Erik scrambled to you, falling to his knees, removing the bullet, holding you…Erik was upset enough to lose control of the missiles and they detonated above the ship. There was a scary moment when Erik choked Moira with her dog tags, blaming her for shooting Charles, but he convinced you that it wasn’t her fault.”

“Us turning on each other. It’s what they want. I tried to warn you Charles. I want you by my side We’re brothers, You and I. All of us together, protecting each other we want the same thing…That’s what you said, Erik. So much of that day is burned into my brain. Charles, your reply was that you didn’t want the same thing. So Erik rose, letting Moira take his place and asked who was with him.”

“Shaw’s people and Raven left with him. Then me, Alex and Hank ran to Moira and Charles and Hank said not to move…and Charles told us he couldn’t feel his legs. I still don’t know how he convinced the Navy to pick us up and transport us back to Florida….but needless to say, that’s how the whole conflict began….”

Dear lord, and that was only the beginning. How traumatic must the rest of the fifty years be? “I think that’s enough to digest for the moment,” Charles said quietly, noting how Erik was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles had gone white and Raven had her hands pressed over her mouth. Even Sean, who knew all the details, was looking a little wrung out.

They spent a few more minutes sorting through the boxes and selecting some garments to bring upstairs. Everything had been packed away for so long that the creases seemed permanently embossed into the fabric, but that turned out to be the reason Sean was toting around the strange watering can. It was a steamer that pressed the wrinkles out of fabric, like at the dry cleaners. That had to come in handy.

After Sean’s little history lesson, it was even odder to discover no one had been assigned either Erik or Raven’s suites. Both rooms were kept in order by the staff and their things had long since been moved to storage, but the rooms themselves, closest to Charles’s suite, stood empty.

Clustered in Charles’s suite, they managed (or, to be fair, Raven managed) to work the steamer as Sean had shown them and were dressed in familiar clothing by the time Ms. Grey’s voice echoed in their heads.

Dinner is being served in the dining hall.

Charles looked to Erik, who straightened the collar of his turtleneck and nodded. Raven looped her arms through each of their elbows as they set off to the dining hall.

Once more into the breach.

 

* * *

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	4. Ororo POV

The dull roar that filled the dining hall was actually significantly quieter than usual, Ororo reflected, despite the addition of students and staff from the Massachusetts Academy. It was yet another sign that the children understood more of what was going on then their teachers wished them to. Not that it was bad for them to be informed, but it seemed far too heavy a burden to weigh upon their young shoulders.

Laden with a staggering amount of Indian food (Mrs. Benton’s theme for the night), each of the large tables were packed with children… save for the faculty table, of course. As always, the next table seated the youngest members of the student body while the older children crammed themselves, elbow to elbow at the final three tables. It just wasn’t cool to sit near the teachers.

All through the room, voices sounded, calling for plates of spicy biryani & Chole bhature. Rajma Cheval, a bean curry and rice, and Methi Saag, a veggie stir fry, were always a huge hit and dozens of baskets of Chapati and Naan passed from hand to hand. The little ones feasted on tamer looking lamb kebabs, discretely flicking cherry tomatoes at each other.

At the relatively, peaceful faculty table, Ororo turned to look at her tense contemporaries. Even before the oddness of having a 20-something version of the Professor (not to mention a teenage Mystique and achingly hot Magneto) running around, they hadn’t been in the best spirits. The president was due to make a speech either backing or condemning the MRA tonight and that knowledge loomed. Obama had always been a proponent for civil liberties, but the already controversial mutant issue had been dealt a blow by Magneto’s Ellis Island stunt.

Still, everyone was attempting to keep up a good face for the little ones. Some were better at that than others. Scott was subtly eyeing Tabitha, who had tossed a spoonful of Rajma Cheval at Sam, who was unhappily wiping it out of his ear. They had to make sure that didn’t escalate, as Tabitha’s control of her powers was…a bit shoddy.

Suddenly, the room fell silent and heads turned like the tide to stare in the direction of the door. Their three, time-lost guests had arrived, hovering by the door, observing the chaos of the room with no little amount of shock.

It was clear that Sean had been successful in finding them some clothing down in storage. Even Mystique -- The Professor and Magneto were calling her Raven -- had changed her outfit (something she seemed able to do at whim). Instead of the plain black skirt, sweater and light jacket from earlier, she wore an adorable black mini dress with ¾ sleeves and an interesting feathered design on the skirt. A grey silk scarf matched her tights and her knee high boots were enviable.

She looked lovely, but that was not particularly surprising.

The Professor, on the other hand, had unearthed gray, wool trousers and a gray tweed jacket. The only thing he wore that was seasonally appropriate was his pale blue Oxford shirt. He looked like a cute, but particularly dorky, college professor. That was…kind of apt.

Magneto…Okay, she could admit he was just gorgeous. Almost painfully so. Wearing a form fitting, black turtleneck sweater and slim cut khaki trousers, he looked long, lean and dangerous….

There were more than a few students gazing intently at Magneto, some not even bothering to disguise their open mouthed appreciation. Even a few of the boys were looking a little curious.

Not that anyone could blame them.

In her seat, Emma was leaning towards Sean, smiling slightly as she said, “I’d forgotten they looked like that.”

“Hush, woman,” he replied, though he seemed to be smiling himself.

“All I’m saying is that the girls are going to terrify them. Aggressively flirtatious teenagers with hormone fueled dirty names…not the norm for them,” Emma pointed out and Ororo couldn’t help but agree. They’d have to keep an eye on the girls, especially Tabitha and Alison.

Those two would probably leave the Professor scarred for life.

“True enough,” Sean conceded, then settled back into his seat as the Professor, Magneto and Mystique mad their way towards the staff table. Mystique seemed to be towing the two men along, as Magneto was busy eyeing the room warily and the Professor was slowly turning red as he tried not to look at anyone directly.

Oh.

He was already picking up on some of their thoughts.

Lovely.

“So,” Mystique said, clearly trying to ignore the dozens of eyes focused on her, “Um, what exactly is this?”

She was pointing at a serving dish of curry, which Ororo supposed could look a little odd to someone who wasn’t used to somewhat exotic meals.

“Try the kebabs,” Sean offered, passing her the plate and smiling at her relieved expression.

Both Mystique and the Professor seemed content with the kebabs and rice, while Magneto didn’t seem to care what the food looked like. He simply spooned up whatever was offered and began to eat, barely seeming to taste the food.

Around the room, people resumed their meals, but quietly, still watching the head table. There were several moments where the only sounds were that of silverware clinking or the occasional cough, echoing through the large room. In an attempt to diffuse the tension (at least that’s what Ororo assumed he was doing), Scott politely asked, “Can we answer any questions you may have, Professor?”

Clearly relieved, the Professor wiped his mouth, swallowing a bite of lamb, before saying, “That would be wonderful! How long has a school been operating here? Are there academic classes for the children as well as ones devoted to learning to harness their mutations? And what is this MRA everyone is thinking about in such ominous terms?”

“We’ve been a fully accredited school since the 80’s,” Scott replied, avoiding the far more difficult question about the MRA. Most of our graduates go on to earn degrees and teaching credentials. I teach maths and mechanics, Ororo English and history. Jean handles the sciences and you, Professor, teach ethics. We also have other alumni who rotate in as guest lecturers.”

The Professor’s eyes were bright with interest as Jean took over the conversation. “We all have a hand in helping the children learn to use their abilities safely.”

“Totally mixed results on that!” John muttered, causing the other students to chuckle.

“John,” Jean chided gently, but his humor had diffused the tension that had been lingering in the room.

Even Magneto, so serious, cracked a small smile. His eyes however, remained focused, still guarded and restrained. Tilting his head to peer down at Scott, he asked, “And the MRA?”

And just like that, the tension was back.

“The Mutant Registration Act.”

Of course Emma would be the one to boldly speak of the thing they all so feared. The blond turned to face Magneto as she continued, “It’s a controversial legislative bill which, if passed into law, would require and enforce the mandatory registration of mutants with the government. Supporters of the act claim that we should have to register our abilities for public safety reasons, as though our powers were akin to guns.”

“What?” Mystique asked in shock as the Professor’s eyes grew concerned and Magneto’s fists clenched on the table top.

Up and down the table, silverware trembled as Magneto breathed, “Identification, Charles. That’s how it begins.”

It was fairly common knowledge among the X-Men that Magneto had survived the Holocaust as a boy. Though they didn’t share his ideological stance, that knowledge did make the man’s views concerning the persecution of mutants a bit more understandable. It was one of the reasons she believed the Professor never truly viewed Magneto as his enemy.

“There is opposition to this Act, yes?” The Professor asked, closing a hand around Magneto’s wrist in a seemingly unconscious gesture.

Jean nodded. “Of course. Senator Lieberman is spearheading the opposition and since…Senator Kelly’s change of heart, the Act has faltered a bit.”

“If not for that little stunt on Ellis Island it might have died already,” Logan mumbled in between bites of spiced beef. Ororo joined Scott and Jean in tossing the Canadian quelling looks while Emma merely nodded and Sean shrugged.

The Professor, Magneto and Mystique looked interested. Apparently, Scott’s attempt to answer their questions had only raised more.

If they stayed this way for any length of time, Ororo had the feeling the three 60’s era people would be in for a sharp learning curve.

* * *

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	5. Raven POV

“This is so weird.”

Charles raised a brow and quipped, “Aptly put.”

Perched on the foot of his bed, Raven tugged the hem of her borrowed nightshirt down over her knees. When she slept, she reverted to her natural blue form, meaning he clothes vanished and, though the mansion was familiar, it was strange and she didn’t want to be alone in her room. Sean had been understanding and lent her a t-shirt to sleep in. “I’m no mind reader, but it was pretty clear what some of those girls were thinking about you and Erik.”

“Raven!” Charles mumbled as he contemplated the chess set that sat where it had since he was a boy. She smiled as his cheeks pinked. He was delightfully easy to ruffle. She assumed he’d attempt to dissuade her, but instead he continued, “Not a small number of young men were quite take with you.”

She laughed and tossed a pillow at him, which h batted away with a smile.

Glancing at the door, he called out, “Come in, Erik.”

The door lock clicked open and Erik slipped in, silent on bare feet. As he stepped further into the room, the door swung closed and the lock re-engaged, courtesy of his powers. He looked more disgruntled than usual and Raven asked, “What else exploded?”

Charles choked on a snort as Erik grimaced. “The clock on the bedside table died the moment I touched it.”

21st century technology did not seem to interact well with Erik Lehnsherr. Raven found that highly amusing. So far, TV and game thing in the rec room, several impossibly tiny phones, a smoke alarm and now a clock had fallen prey to his magnetic abilities.

He peered around Charles’s room, looking for any more potential microchip filled time bombs. Not seeing any immediately evident, he relaxed…well, as much as Erik ever relaxed. Raven doubted he even really unwound, though he did seem to find Charles’s presence soothing. Sometimes she felt a stab of jealousy at the easy rapport the two of them had developed, but she could see that they each filled a void in the other’s life.

But more than anything, she was glad to see Charles happy.

Of course, this whole time travel (or whatever had happened) thing had thrown them all for a loop, but Charles seemed far more curious than confused or on edge. The residents of the mansion (the ones from the future…or the present, she supposed) were all a bit blasé about the whole situation. The adults seemed more concerned with the fact that (according to them), she and Erik were bad guys and the kids…the girls were happy to ogle Charles and Erik, while the boys had been looking her over.

Well, not the girl with the white streak in her hair. That girl was definitely hostile.

“If we’re here for an extended amount of time, I’m sure you’ll master the delicate hand needed so as not to effect their technologies,” Charles said supportively. “From what I overheard from the teachers, by their time you don’t have issues with accidental destruction of tech.”

“Good to know,” Erik muttered, settling gracefully on the left side of the bed. The movement caused his robe to gape open slightly, revealing the broad, smooth expanse of his chest. Unlike Charles, who wore blue linen pajamas, the same style as the ones he’d been wearing the night he’d found her in the kitchen, Erik was clad only in soft, cotton pants and a warm blue robe.

He leaned back against the pile of pillows and let out a tired breath. Raven had to agree with his tacit admittance of exhaustion. The shock of the day had taken a lot out of her and even Charles, for all his enthusiasm, had been letting loosed a series of jaw cracking yawns.

“You gonna stay with us tonight?” She asked Erik, who blinked at her in surprise before glancing at Charles, who was now peering at the shelves of books in the sitting area. He wasn’t paying any attention, so Raven continued, “I know it’s silly, but I don’t want to be alone here tonight. This is home, but it’s not and….”

With a nod, Erik said, “I see.”

“There’s plenty of room,” Charles said easily, selecting a book and crossing to them. The bed was an enormous, tall structure and Raven smiled as he boosted himself up onto his usual side. There was literally several feet between the two men and she grinned, crawling up the bed and settling into the free space.

Between the late hour and the stresses of the day, she found her eyelids drooping as she snuggled under the blankets. Beside her, Erik did the same, shedding his robe and switching off the light on his bedside table. Charles attempted to read for a few minutes, but soon gave in and set the book down.

The room plunged into darkness and Raven fell to sleep listening to the men on either side of her breathe.

* * *

The sun streaming in through the windows slowly woke her and Raven stretched, enjoying the lingering moments of peace that existed before true awareness rushed in. As she remembered the events of the previous day, she sighed and opened her eyes, glancing around Charles’s room.

How the….?

Somehow, during the night, she and Charles had traded positions in bed. She was sprawled, comfortably boneless, on the right side, where Charles had been when they’d drifted off. Now, he was in the middle, but she had certainly not been in his current position last night.

In sleep, Charles had become the little spoon to Erik’s big spoon. It was actually quite adorable.

Snuggled in Erik’s arms, Charles was sleeping deeply, his breaths even and cheeks flushed from the body heat the larger man was providing. Beyond Charles’s dark, tousled hair, Erik’s face looked more peaceful than she’d had ever seen. He was holding Charles as though determined to never let him go.

Despite (or maybe because of) what the 21st century inhabitants of the mansion had told them about the complicated relationship between the older versions of Charles and Erik, she couldn’t imagine either of them allowing such a rift to occur. Though they hadn’t known each other for very long, Raven could see that they had simply clicked from the moment they met. They understood each other, respected each other as equals, found comfort together.

That much was evident in Erik’s relaxed expression and the fact that Charles was still sleeping. Normally, he had trouble blocking out the minds of large groups of people while he was asleep and they woke him, which was never fun. Charles was not a morning person. Clearly, his mind had reached out and, feeling Erik’s familiar presence, had latched onto him in order to block out the chaos of the school.

Grinning, Raven wished she had a camera to capture the two of them like this.

She shifted slightly as her waking muscles protested her inactivity and cried out to stretch. The motion, tiny as it was, woke Erik in an instant and his blue eyes flew open, peering at her over the top of Charles’s head. For a moment, he gazed at her, unblinking, before his eyes ticked down to Charles, then back to her, lifting a brow as though daring her to comment.

Stifling a chuckle, Raven merely grinned.

It was in that moment that Charles showed a sign of life, moaning, “Fi mrr mints.” He then rolled over, pressing his face to Erik’s chest and went back to sleep.

The expression on Erik’s face was one of mixed surprise, amusement and pleasure and he raised a hand to gently stoke Charles’s hair.

For a moment, Raven could almost forget about all this future craziness as she watched the two of them indulgently.

Then the sound of a distant explosion echoed faintly through the room and they all shot out of bed, fighting with the sheets that ensnared them. Explosions had actually become fairly commonplace of late, between Alex, Hank and Sean, but they were always worth investigating.

Nothing to worry about. Jean Grey’s voice echoed in their heads before they even reached the door. Minor accident in the chemistry lab.

Charles looked around in bewilderment, blinking sleepily as he replied, Thank you, Ms. Grey. Good morning.

Morning. I have to deal with the lab, but breakfast is being served until 10.

Standing there beside Erik, who looked coiled and tense as usual, and Charles, rumpled and sleepy, looking like the little boy she’d met so many years ago, Raven shrugged and said, “I could eat.”

Might as well see what would happen today.

 

TBC…..

* * *

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End file.
